Unusual Events: A Short Story Collection

by Max Florschutz

  “None taken.”

  “But look what happened!” Dave said, his eyes wide. “You fought! You had issues. Your dad spent his time at work, right?”

  “Well … yeah.”

  “And not doing things with you.”

  “Again, yeah.”

  “That might be why Joy doesn’t want to have kids. I spend all my time at work. I don’t take a day off. I don’t take breaks.”

  “Not even to spend time with her?” Mike asked. “I kind of thought the nineteen years thing was hyperbole.”

  “No …” Dave said, shaking his head and suddenly looking very ashamed. “No, it’s not. I mean, I took her out to dinner and stuff … but … damn. No wonder she doesn’t want to have kids. I’d make a terrible father.”

  For a moment the camp was quiet save for the faint sound of the bear below them. “Well,” Mike said after a minute. “Maybe it’s a good thing you know this now? You know, as opposed to later?”

  “She could have said something, though,” Dave said, frowning. “That would have been a lot more clear.”

  “Would you have listened?” Mike asked.

  Dave sighed. “No,” he said. “Probably not.” There was another grunt from down below, the tree vibrating slightly as their visitor once again put his front paws on the trunk.

  “Might’ve even made your fight all the worse.” Mike glared down at the bear as the tree gave another little shake. “Beat it!” he shouted. If the bear understood his command, it wasn’t acknowledging it.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Dave said, not even bothering to look down at the large brown bear as it grunted and then pawed at the tree once more, its thick claws biting into the bark. “Damn, I wish I could call her right now and tell her.”

  Mike let out a laugh. “Even if your phone was one you—”

  “It isn’t,” Dave said, shaking his head and then at last shooting a glare at their visitor, which let out another long, rumbling sound that was halfway between a bark and a grunt. “I left it in my tent.”

  “Well, you can’t get a signal here anyway,” Mike finished, nodding. “We’d have to either hike up to a nearby ridge or go out on the skiff to get a good signal. That or head for town.”

  “Could we do that?”

  Mike blinked in surprise. “Head back to town?”

  “Yeah,” Dave said. “I mean, the bear already tore up most of my stuff. Why stick around?”

  “Well, yeah, that’s true,” Mike admitted, his stomach sinking as he looked down at him. So much for getting paid. “I mean, we can make do as long as it didn’t do too much damage, so we don’t need to go back if you don’t want to. You can still get the rest of your trip in before—”

  “No,” Dave said, shaking his head. “No, I need to call Joy and get back to see her. She was right, and I need to let her know.”

  He tried not to let his disappointment show. Well, two out of three isn’t bad. Unless he wants a full refund, that’s still more than half of a trip, right? Unless he doesn’t want to count today … Customers had done that before; canceled the morning of the second day and then wanted a full refund for the whole trip, leaving him to eat the costs of the fuel and everything else. He couldn’t add a refund disclaimer—that would just mean less customers—but at the same time …

  “All right,” he said, glancing down at their visitor once more. “Once ‘Smokey’ here leaves, I’ll get us packed up. I can refund you the third day—”

  “No,” Dave said, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

  Great, here it comes, Mike thought. “All right, two days?”

  “No, no, no. No days.”

  He winced. Damn. There wasn’t anything arguing would get him, though. He’d been down that route before. “All right,” he said. “Full refund. I got it.” He managed to keep the bitter edge from his voice, but he knew Dave could tell he was disappointed. “I’ll get it worked out as soon as we—”

  “No,” Dave said. “No refund. You can keep it all.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “You can keep it all,” Dave said, shaking his head and giving him a friendly look. “For the full three days. I don’t want a refund.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t think of much else to say. “Thank you. That’s really generous.”

  “Well, you did bring me out here, as well as get me up close and personal with the wildlife—” There was a grunt from below them, followed by another shuffling bark.

  “Though I’ll be honest, it’s a bit closer than I expected,” Dave finished as he pulled his legs a little further up the trunk. “Still, no refunds.”

  “That’s … more than fair,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Thanks.”

  “Well …” Dave said, giving him an expectant look. “If I might, could I attach a little catch to that?”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “When I come up again—even if that’s next week—can I get another trip? Maybe one with less of the face-to-face wilderness experience?” From down below there was a grunt, followed by a muffled thump as the bear dropped down to all fours again.

  “Yeah, sure.” He shook his head. “I can do my best. You thinking you’re going to be running back up here pretty quickly?”

  “No,” Dave said as the bear began to saunter away in that way that only several hundred pounds of muscle and flesh could, brush parting around it like a green curtain. “I’m thinking of seeing if Joy wants to come up here.”

  “Ah,” Mike said as he slid forward, dropping off of the branch he’d been sitting on and dropping to the next one down. He could still see their visitor forging a path through the brush, but he wanted to make sure that it was a good distance away before he climbed any further. He shook his head as Dave started to move.

  “No,” he said, waving his hand at him. “Not yet. It might be coming back. Give it a minute, and let me go down first.” He waited, watching until the bear was out of sight and then gave it a minute more, time enough to put even more distance between itself and them.

  Then he dropped out of the tree, slinging himself from branch to branch in his hurry to get to the bottom. He hit the ground running, his boots sinking into the deep moss as he bolted across the campsite, coming to a skidding halt next to his own pack and tugging the bear spray from its pocket. The forest was mostly silent around him as he turned in a quick circle, the only sounds the faint thump of his heart and the distant, chittering cry of an eagle. No growls. No grunts. Not even the sound of something large and fast moving through the brush.

  “You can come down,” he called, waving his free hand at Dave. “I think it left.”

  “You sure?” Dave asked, giving the surrounding forest a quick look before slowly beginning his journey down the tree.

  “No,” Mike said as he began poking through the campsite. “So keep your eyes open.” The damage wasn’t that bad, though Dave’s backpack and the cooler were complete losses. The former looked like it had been shredded by knives, tangled strips of fabric hanging in clumps from all sides, the contents strewn around the ground around it. The latter, on the other hand, was a complete loss, busted beyond repair with whole chunks missing from its sides. At least with the coloration, the pieces wouldn’t be hard to find.

  There was a scraping sound as Dave slid the last few feet down the trunk of the tree. “Wow,” he said as he stepped into the campsite, his eyes flicking from one piece of destruction to the next. “He really did a number on this place.”

  “And without breaking a sweat,” Mike said, giving him a nod. “Bears don’t even have to try. Lots of muscle. I’ve seen one bend a fifty-five gallon barrel in half without even batting an eye.”

  “Wow …” Dave bent over and picked up what was left of his backpack, watching as several socks slipped through the lacerated bottom. “I’m glad we made it to the tree.”

  “Me too,” Mike said, stepping over to his tent. “I’ll have to let the Forest Service know we’ve got a friendly one out here, warn people a
way for a few weeks.” He unzipped the tent and took a quick look inside. Nothing had been disturbed. “Until then, though, let’s get packed up and get you back. You going to call your wife as soon as you can?”

  “Of course,” Dave said, dropping his pack. “The longer you let something like this fester, the worse it is to deal with later. I’m better off calling her as soon as I can, especially since I need to apologize.”

  “Huh.” Mike pulled his sleeping bag out and gave it a quick shake before spreading it back out on the floor of the tent. “As long as it makes you happy. Now hurry up and pack, if we want to leave, we’re going to need to beat the tide.” He began rolling his sleeping bag up, compressing the soft nylon surface as tightly as he could.

  The cooler was a loss, but he was getting paid for three days’ worth of work while getting home early. Not bad for a bear encounter, he thought. Not bad at all.

  * * *

  “Thanks again,” Dave said as he pulled his two bags from the back of the truck and set them on the pavement. “I know it was a shift in your schedule, but—”

  “It’s fine,” Mike said, shaking his head as he lifted the tailgate and slammed it shut. It took three hits before the latch clicked home. One of these days I’ll have to fix that, he thought. “I’m getting paid for three days of camping after only two. The least I can do is give you a ride back to the ferry.” The ship in question let out a dull bleat, its horn echoing across the gap between the land the city was built on and the island that held the local airport. A five minute warning before departure.

  “Seriously though, I did have fun,” Dave said, shouldering his new backpack. The old one was packed into one of his duffels, a memento of his trip Mike didn’t doubt would impress Dave’s bar buddies in California. “I’ll recommend you if anyone asks.”

  “Thanks.” He bent over and picked up one of Dave’s bags. It was light, barely weighty at all. It was a shame he couldn’t have just stuffed whatever was in it inside the other bag, since the airline would charge him for having two. “I appreciate the business.”

  “No problem,” Dave said, taking the bag from him and then crouching to pick up the second. “And hey, who knows. Maybe you’ll see me again soon.”

  “With Joy in tow?”

  Dave grinned. “Maybe? Hopefully.” He took a quick look down the dock at the ferry, already accepting passengers. “I’d better get running.”

  “Good luck,” Mike said, holding out his hand. Dave took it and gave it a quick shake. His hand was soft, but the grip was firm, a tightness to the grip belying the soft skin on the surface. “You talked with her already?”

  “I did,” Dave said, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting go. “And I’m going to be in the doghouse for a while, but … admitting I was wrong did do me a lot of favors.” He grinned. “Besides, I was wrong, so all it took was swallowing my pride.”

  “A hard thing to do.”

  “Yeah, well, there’ll be a lot of that in my future, I think,” Dave said, shrugging. “My boss won’t like it, but what the hell. Family comes first, so anything for them, right?” He smiled. “See you next time, Mike.”

  “You too, Dave.”

  With a final nod, the man turned and began walking down the ramp towards the waiting ferry. Mike watched him for a minute, making sure that Dave had made it aboard before turning and climbing back into his truck.

  “Family comes first,” he said aloud as he started up the truck. The engine caught with a dull, sputtering chatter, the pickup shaking from side to side before the engine settled into a comfortable rhythm. “Swallow the pride. Huh.”

  He pulled out onto the highway, lost in his own thoughts as he drove past the dry docks and headed for downtown. He left the battered radio in the center console untouched, the only sound in the cab the rumble of the engine as he moved through the core of the city and then out again, heading south towards more rural areas, away from tourists and “tall” buildings.

  His house—or cabin, really—was set away from the road, following a long, bumpy driveway of crushed rock that twisted through the overhanging trees. Branches slapped against the roof of his truck, scraping across the top and swaying back and forth in his mirrors. It only took a minute or two for him to break free of the drive and end up in the small clearing in front of his house, his pickup coasting as he took his foot off of the gas. It rolled easily under the small roof he’d built alongside his home—a space for storing some of his more durable equipment and his wood supply. Gravel crunched underfoot as he stepped out of his truck, the rock still slightly fresh from the last time he’d graded it.

  He grabbed his pack and shut the door with a loud bang that echoed across the clearing. The noise barely registered to his senses. His mind was elsewhere. First, he thought, his feet making dull thumps against the wooden steps in front of his cabin. Swallow the pride.

  He unlocked his front door, keys jingling as he twisted them, and stepped inside, taking in a deep breath as he walked into the entryway. Everything was as he’d left it, from the old couch to the familiar blinking light on his answering machine letting him know that he’d missed a few calls. Maybe it was a new client, trying his home number when his cell hadn’t picked up.

  His pack hit the floor with a soft thump as he stepped across the room, not even bothering to take his shoes off.

  If he can do it, why can’t I? Mike thought as he dropped down onto his couch. On one hand, Dave might have been right in his assertion that the longer something had festered, the harder it would be to drag out into the open.

  But maybe he’s wrong, he thought as he reached for the phone. Sometimes … Maybe sometimes you need time? He didn’t bother hitting the “play” button on his machine. He couldn’t listen to calls. He had one to make first. He glanced at the clock hanging over his door, eyeing the cheap plastic as he did the math in his head. There was still time.

  The numbers came easily beneath his fingers, flowing out of his mind without any resistance even after so many long years. A faint, tinny ringing sound echoed from the receiver as he held it up to his ear, echoing once, then twice, then—

  Someone picked up. “Hello?” a voice demanded, the cadence raspy but no less commanding. “Who’s this?”

  Mike swallowed. I should have grabbed a drink, he thought as he took a breath. It was too late now. He opened his mouth.

  “Hey dad,” he said, the words coming out nice and easy. “How’s it going?”

  Workday

  This one is also a bit different. It’s still an Alaska story, but my reason for writing this one dissimilar from the last one. While Vacation was written mostly to pacify those who kept asking me to write about Alaska, Workday was written for one person and one person alone.

  My Dad.

  Here it is Dad, the birthday gift I promised I’d write for you, at long last. And it’s exactly the kind of story you like: A young kid being thrown into the harsh realities of a tough, brutal, Alaskan fishing job and growing up a little. Complete with accurate skipper (who is not based on you, just FYI, but an amalgamation of the various skippers I’ve known over the years), rain, smells, and scenery.

  It’s not my usual choice of setting. Had I written this for myself there would have been flying boats, maybe literal ice fishing, and some other fantastical setup. But I didn’t write it for me. This one’s yours. It may have my distinct style all over it, but it’s a story that’s still for you more than for me.

  To the story!

  4:45 AM

  “Up, up, up!”

  Casey shuddered as the voice rolled through the small bunk, followed by an increasingly urgent thumping from somewhere above him. He let out a groan, tugging the sleeping bag tighter around him. The banging came again, his head responding in time with an echoing pulse of pain. His eyes felt like he’d rubbed glue in them. Glue mixed with sand.

  “Come on, kid! Up and at ‘em!” The banging started up once more.

  “All right, all right!” Casey call
ed, pushing himself up on his elbow. “I’m up! I’m up!” He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, trying to peel some of the glue away so he could get a good look at the hell he’d awoken to. The cold hell—he could already feel gooseflesh rising across his body.

  “Then get moving,” Rick said, his loud voice laced with far too much enthusiasm for such an early hour. “Come on, kid, it’s the first day of the trip! Woo!” His whoop of enthusiasm echoed through the focsle, a familiar whine filling the air in its passing. With a roar, the diesel engine caught, coming to life with a rumble that shook the boat.

  “Come on, kid!” Rick called, beating on the wheel once more to produce the same banging sound. Or maybe he was kicking the housing; Casey wasn’t sure which it was. “Let’s get moving! We gotta get set!” Echoing thumps denoted the captain moving away through the wheelhouse, and a moment later there was a bang as the back door swung open.

  “Ugh.” Casey pushed his blanket away, shivering in the cool air. His mouth felt like he’d stuffed cotton in it, and the now-dull rumble of the engine was aggravating his already sensitive head.

  This must be what a hangover feels like, he thought as he pushed himself up, ducking so that his head wouldn’t hit the low ceiling above him. The captain’s heavy tread passed somewhere above him on the bow, and a moment later the rumble of the engine was joined by a heavy, low hum. The hydraulics had been switched on. The anchor was coming.

  Sure enough, as he rolled himself out of the bunk, his feet landing on the cool, thin carpet, he heard the telltale squeak of the anchor winch being adjusted. A moment later a metallic squeal cut through the air as the winch activated, and Casey clapped his hands over his ears, letting out a groan as the sound echoed all around him.

  Why am I doing this again? he asked himself as he glanced around the small focsle for his bag. And where’s the light? What time is it? His limbs felt heavy, like he’d barely gotten any sleep at all. A yawn rolled out of his mouth as his searching hands found his clothes, and he began to get dressed.